


Phantoms

by soongtypeprincess



Series: Married Coppers [22]
Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Parents, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chronic Pain, Comfort, Dreams and Nightmares, Family, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Married Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 03:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soongtypeprincess/pseuds/soongtypeprincess
Summary: Sam finds himself in 2006 again.





	Phantoms

**Author's Note:**

> I DO NOT OWN THE CANON LIFE ON MARS CHARACTERS!

Sam hissed at the sudden throbbing pain in his leg that woke him. He clutched his pillow as the pain traveled across the top of his thigh and the muscles tightened.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, repeating this until the pain ebbed, but his leg was still cramped. Sam sighed as he carefully sat up and put his legs over the side of the bed. Slowly, he eased himself to his feet and limped to the door where his dressing gown hanged on a peg next to Gene’s. He looked back at his sleeping husband who was snoring as he lay on his stomach.

He walked to Ruthie’s bedroom and peeked through her opened door and grinned when he saw her on her back, her arms above her head and on her pillow and her blanket kicked aside. Sam limped toward her bed and quietly grunted as he picked up Bertram from the floor. He placed the Bobby lion at her side before covering her tiny feet with the blanket. 

Sam lightly patted her hair before leaving her room to head downstairs.

His forehead was covered in sweat by the time he reached the kitchen and helped himself to the last of their Ribena.

This was the sixth time his leg pain woke him up in the middle of the night. The wound was two years old and was now an inverted patch of scar tissue on his upper right thigh, but it would have its bouts of soreness, as if it were serving as a reminder of how lucky he was to survive a gunman’s bullet.

After the second night of pain, he visited their family doctor, who told Sam he would have to cut down on his jogging, maybe take up cycling. In the meantime, he was given a low dosage of codeine to ease the pain.

Sam winced at the thought of not jogging. It was his favorite way to clear his head, but his pace wasn't the same after being shot in the leg. Also, he didn't care for pain meds as they always made him quiet groggy, but he needed something for this discomfort, so he took one before bedtime every night. 

Still, the pain would come.

Was he sleeping in a certain position to make it so sore? Or we he really agitating it by jogging four times a week?

After Sam finally healed, Gene was mindful of his roughness when they made love, although there were nights when one of them would become reckless in the heat of the moment and Sam’s leg would cramp.

He wiped the moisture from his forehead and swallowed the last of his squash. Sam limped to the sitting room where he settled into Gene’s recliner and pulled the lever back to release the footrest.

Perhaps if I prop it up, he thought, the throbbing will stop.

It didn’t, and Sam pushed himself further back until the recliner lay flat. 

He felt woozy.

 

\------

 

Sam felt a vibration in his blazer pocket that startled him and he slowly reached inside and pulled out a mobile phone. His eyes grew wide as he stared at it, the name “Maya” flashing across the blue screen.

He shook his head as he muted it, but it vibrated again and he threw it to the ground.

Sam found he was in the playground, one he usually passed by as he drove to work every morning, only this time, the equipment was aged. The monkey bars appeared to have three coats of yellow paint, its latest coat peeling away. The seats of the swing set were worn and old, and the merry-go-round was rusted.

He sat alone on a bench, looking around to find children, but there were none. He then looked down at his outfit. He donned a pair of black slacks and shiny Kenneth Cole dress shoes. His buttoned shirt was stark white and he wore a black tie that was tight around his neck.

Sam jumped up from the bench and gasped, quickly loosening the tie and pulling it over his head. He threw that to the ground next the mobile phone as a silver Mercedes Benz zoomed past. He walked onto the sidewalk where he almost bumped into a teenager on a skateboard. He was wearing earbuds and carrying an iPod.

He frowned and shook his head again. “No…” he whispered. “No...no, no…”

He turned and jogged down the sidewalk, passing by electronics stores, shiny new McDonald’s restaurants, and people moving out of his way as they chatted on their mobiles.

A newsagent was shouting headlines behind his cart. “Get your papers! Times! Daily Mirror!”

Sam, his eyes wide and glazed with the start of tears, stepped to the cart and put his hands on the edge. 

It was real wood. The papers were also real, and he could smell the fresh ink.

“Here ya are, sir!” the newsagent said, shoving a paper at him.

Sam took the newspaper and read the headline. “Liverpool wins FA Cup!” The year:  _ 2006 _ .

He became dizzy again and swallowed back the bit of bile that burned in his throat. Sam threw the paper back at the newsagent.

“No!” he shouted. “This isn’t possible!”

The newsagent laughed, saying, “I know, bloody Scouser twats.”

He stepped back onto the sidewalk, running his fingers through his short hair. “I can’t be back, no! This isn’t real!” He turned and continued running until he heard the familiar sound of a school bell.

He realized he was suddenly in front of Ruthie’s primary school, and the doors opened when the bell ceased its ringing. 

Sam swallowed the burning lump in his throat again and looked out amongst the sea of small children for the blonde pigtails of his little girl.

He sighed when he saw her familiar round face and bright blue eyes as she rushed down the stairs to a tall man wearing a dark blue down jacket.

Sam smiled when he recognized him. It was Gene, rubbing his gloved hands together before picking Ruthie off the ground and kissing her cheek.

But how could that be? If this was indeed 2006, Gene would be much older, much grayer. However, there he was: just as Sam knew him, with his eyes still an azure blue and his hair a cascade of sandy blonde.

Despite all logic, Sam's heart beat hard in his chest as he gazed upon him, this man that was his husband, this man that was a wonderful father to their child.

He watched as Gene took took Ruthie's backpack and carried it in one hand while he held Ruthie with one arm, and they walked in his direction.

“Guv,” he said in a low whisper. They stepped closer and Sam smiled at Ruthie. “Hi, sweetpea!” 

She didn’t reply, but only gave him a strange look, and Gene completely ignored him, walking past him and leaving him behind.

“Guv?” Sam said to him, walking behind them. “Wait...where are you going? Home’s this way.”

Gene suddenly turned on his heel and gave him that familiar scowl. “Can I help you, mate?” he asked in a low tone. 

Sam was confused. “Gene…” he muttered, “it’s me. Sam.” He saw Gene’s frown as he looked him over. “You know?  _ Sammy _ .”

Gene sneered. “I don’t know a Sam, lad. Off you go.”

He turned around and continued to walk away until Sam grabbed his shoulder. “Gene, hold on! We’re married!”

Gene turned back to him, laughing, “Married, eh? Good one, now leave us alone!”

“Guv, we’re married!” Sam yelled at his back. He noticed Ruthie staring at him with nervous eyes. “Ruthie! Ruth Anne! She’s our daughter! Don’t you remember? Annie---”

Sam suddenly felt the wind knocked out of him and he fell backwards onto the ground. He looked up and rubbed his chest where Gene had shoved him. He looked down at his left hand and found no gold band.

Gene now towered over him. “Look here, you bastard,” he growled. “I don’t know  _ how _ you know my wife’s name or me daughter’s, but you stay away from us, got it? I don’t know you, mate, now shove off! And don’t let me catch sniffing around this primary school again or I’ll throw you in a cell and you’ll never see the light of day again!”

This wasn’t Gene. It couldn’t be, Sam concluded. There was no bite to his bark. A shove to the ground? The real Gene Hunt would have gladly given him a punch to the gut.

Sam watched them cross the street and get into a silver Mercedes Benz, and he staggered to his feet to follow them.

Before he reached them, however, he heard the blast of a car horn and turned to see a truck speeding toward him. He felt a hard thud and was airborne.

 

\--------

 

Sam gasped and awoke as he tumbled out of the recliner.

A loud groan escaped him when a burst hot pain in his leg shot through him again. He could feel the moisture on his face, a mixture of sweat and tears. 

He whimpered as he tried to right himself but his arms were shaking and his heart was racing.

“Sammy!” a voice said as hands touched his shoulders. “Jesus, what you doing down here at this time of night, making all this racket?”

Sam lifted his now aching head and saw the blurred figure next to him come into focus.

It was Gene, wearing his blue and white striped dressing gown. He was on his hands and knees next to him.

“Is it your leg again?” Gene asked. “Bloody hell, Tyler, I know it makes you loopy, but you need to take the codeine, like the doc said. Mind you, if it were  _ my _ leg that was all gammy, you’d be up my arse with pills!”

Sam reached for Gene’s hand and grasped it, feeling the smooth wedding band on his finger. He took a deep breath and got onto his knees and looked at the ring on his own finger.

“Are you okay?” Gene asked, his tone softer now.

He hugged his arms close to him to try to stop shaking.

Gene moved closer and sat on the floor. “Come here.” He gently pulled Sam to him to allow him to crawl into his lap. He rested his head against Gene’s shoulder.

“Guv?”

“Bloody hell, Sam, talk to me.”

Sam licked his lips. “What year is it?”

“Eh?”

“The year,” Sam repeated. “What is it? What car do you drive?” Sam gulped. “Who won the FA Cup?”

Gene’s confused expression slowly turned to one of amusement and he huffed as he rolled his eyes.

He kissed his husband’s forehead. “It’s 1982,” he replied. “I’ve got a red Quattro that you absolutely hate, and the Spurs took QPR, one nil.”

“And...we’re married, right?”

“Two years, love,” Gene assured him. “We wore powder blue waistcoats, and you shoved cake into my face.” He paused when Sam giggled. “And we fooled around in a heart shaped tub later that night,  _ and _ we had our honeymoon in Cumbria.”

Sam nodded as he grinned. “In a thatched roof cottage. Near a farm.”

“Right,” Gene said, smiling. “Shagged like ferrets, we did. Morning, noon, and night. It’s a wonder we didn’t break the bed.”

Sam laughed at the memory and then began to cry.

Gene stroked his arm. “My God,” he said. “That was some dream, eh?”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed, wiping his eyes. “It was so real, but I knew it couldn’t be. But that’s what was so frightening. What if it actually  _ was _ real?”

“It’s alright. It  _ was _ a dream, Sammy, so stop your crying now.”

Sam sat up straighter in Gene’s lap and put his hand to his cheek. “God, it was horrible,” he said through his tears. “I was in a strange place...alone...you turned me away, with our girl in tow.”

“Hush, now,” Gene whispered, kissing the palm of his hand. “I would never turn you away.”

“How do I know  _ this _ is real? What if I’m still dreaming?”

Gene grinned and pressed his lips to his, making him sigh once more. He pulled away and stroked Sam’s cheek with his thumb. “Did that feel real?”

Sam smiled, wiping his cheeks with the sleeve of his dressing gown. “Yeah...I think so. Doesn’t help that I’m on pain meds right now.”

Gene giggled. “I could take you back to bed and give you a _ruddy_ _good_ convincing, then.”

They shared a quiet laugh and kissed again. “That’s my Guv, right here,” Sam whispered against his lips. “Nothing like the one in my dream.”

“Oh yeah? Am I sexier than Dream Gene?”

“By bloody far, yes,” Sam replied. He sniffed and looked to the stairs. “And Ruthie...is she--?”

“Miraculously sleeping through all of your nonsense?” Gene asked. “Yeah, she upstairs, snug as a bug. Want me to prove it?”

He helped him to his feet and Sam gripped his arm as he could barely put weight on his right leg without instant pain shooting through him again. 

After some time and slight struggle up the stairs, they stopped in front of Ruthie’s room and quietly entered. 

“See?” Gene whispered. “She’s out like a light.”

Sam limped to the edge of her bed and sat down. He reached out and stroked her blonde hair and then caressed her warm cheek. 

She stirred at his touch and rubbed her eyes. “Daddy?” she said, looking up at him. “Is it time for school already?”

Sam’s eyes welled with tears again at the sound of her sweet voice, but he smiled. “No, baby girl,” he told her, taking her hand and kissing it. “Not yet. Go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Why are you crying?” she asked. “Is your leg hurting again, Daddy?” she asked. 

“It is, love, but don’t you worry about me, okay? I’ll be alright.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning, sweetpea.”

“Night night, Daddy,” Ruthie mumbled as she closed her eyes.

“Night night, my girl.”

Gene helped him out of his dressing gown and back into bed where he applied a cold, wet washcloth to Sam’s sweaty forehead.

“What’s this for?” he asked.

“Because your face is on fire,” Gene said. “I could cook me eggs on it. Now, get some sleep.”

They settled under the bed sheet and Sam closed his eyes, but Gene suddenly stirred.

“Why did you ask me about the FA Cup?” 

Sam grinned. “The results were different in my dream.”

“Yeah? Who won, then?”

“Liverpool.”

Gene huffed. “Scouser bastards.” 


End file.
